


His.

by PrismaticDelight



Category: Original Work, The Amberwood Series
Genre: Drabble, I might get rid of this later..., a mess, please bear with me., what is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-02-23 03:03:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23538073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrismaticDelight/pseuds/PrismaticDelight
Summary: I'm... not really sure. I was in a mood and this came out- I don't know how to explain it???? So, I guess, don't read into this too deeply or... something. ????????? Just know that it's a "short" for Astrid Cain-
Kudos: 5





	His.

Just once, I want you to look at me.  
Truly, deeply, unconditionally, unfathomably look at me.  
 _Study me_.  
Cut me open, if you must.  
Break every bone and meld it back together.  
Reshape me from the clay of Mother  
and the ashes of Father.

Tell me what you see.  
Tell me what you find.  
Is it just as I feared?  
Am I hollow?  
Am I incapable of being anything more?  
Am I aimless?

Does what you see please you?  
Or do you scorn me?  
Will you throw my remains in the hearth?  
Will you drag me Under?   
If I tried to climb, would you stop me?  
Of course, you would. _You always do._  
Because that place isn’t meant for me.  
Yet somehow, despite us being the same, it’s meant for _you_.  
It’s meant for the people at our shoes.  
  


But not me.

Never me.

_It will never be me._

You say, in time, perhaps that will change.  
Yet, no matter how cruel, or selfish, or unbridled I am, it is   
always  
no.

So, tell me. Where do I go? What is my purpose?  
If I have none, then why exist?  
Because I have a purpose? Then what is it?  
If it’s not here, nor there, nor up, nor below…  
then where? How can I find it? Will I? Can I?

…Maybe I’m blind. Yes.  
The Sightless cannot see their abyss.  
They cannot see what creates them and makes them whole.  
They cannot see where they belong or where to go.  
…I cannot.  
Because, in the end, I do not want to.

Not anymore.

It grants me nothing.  
It leaves me empty.

Maybe I’ve always been empty.

But that has been an emptiness of my own Creation.  
An emptiness I can Control.  
From the clay of Mother, and ashes of Father,  
my place is somewhere I cannot yet reach.

I cannot see nor smell.   
I know not what it feels like, either.

But, somehow, I know what awaits me is better than this.  
It is… purposeful.

It is a place that accepts even me and all my Sightless, empty ways.

So, if being Sightless grants me such a place, then my Creation is of benefit to me.  
And only me.

Just once, I want you to look at me.  
I want you to watch me.  
I want you to _witness_ me.

From the clay of Mother, and ashes of Father.


End file.
